


You Hold My Heart

by Xixichelth



Category: Astoria Fate's Kiss, Astoria: Fate's Kiss, Labyrinths of Astoria (Visual Novel)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:21:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6639370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xixichelth/pseuds/Xixichelth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An evening of socializing becomes a chance for something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which There Is Tea and Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before Alex Cyprin's route came out, and is so automatically in an AU.

Cyprin eyed the basket of goodies on their desk with wry amusement. Apparently even being transferred would not stop the flow of stress-produced stress-relieving deliciousness. Oh, was that a note?

…No, of course not, she never could refrain from going the extra mile. It was a letter. A letter on cheery, feminine stationery, with a delicately looping, convoluted ‘Cyprin’ written on its envelope, just in case. Their fingers brushed the name with a smile, and then they flipped it over with a chuckle. The tiny, affectionate scribbles of May, the various major cases she’d worked most recently before her promotion to field agent, and the one of Cyprin’s own desk under multiple stacks of paperwork with a ‘ugh, so heavy’ speech bubble were just what they needed to start the day out on a good note.

With a sigh and a glance at the clock, Cyprin slid the letter into their personal drawer, where it should be safe until the end of the workday and a well-deserved chance to kick back and relax. In the meantime, there was work to do. This time, however, Cyprin decided the bounty was not to be shared. “All your cookies belong to base,” went their amused thought as they settled into their chair.

Mid-day brought enough of a break to text a quick “Lovely basket, no chance to read your letter yet, working through lunch” and get a chiding “Take care of yourself, too, Cyprin! Rest is important!” in return.

 

Eventually - after reams of paperwork, entirely too many conversations, and a foray into the field that necessitated a hefty snack to recover from - Cyprin got to take their remaining goodies and their treasured letter home, where both could be properly savored with a pot of good tea.

Home was the one place where everything was always to their liking. Warm, rich forest colors, old wood floors, and a quirky collection of furniture festooned with floral fabrics and botanical prints, with ink and watercolor paintings on the walls. 

Shoes off, teacup on the side table, Cyprin stretched out on the chaise lounge and expertly wielded the letter-opener.

“Dear Cyprin,  
I hope my basket finds you well and happy. Things have been busy, as you can guess from the amount in the basket. (But not too busy to see you - give me a call some weekend. We can have tea, and I’ll refill it for you.)”

Cyprin considered calling her right then, but decided that it was better to hold off. At least until they’d finished reading. It didn’t do to be too eager, and besides, more things to talk about meant more conversation. Now that they weren’t supervisor and employee anymore, it was just a matter of figuring out a good way to find out if she’d like to deepen the friendship into something more.

“I’ll save the stories for in-person, but I wanted to tell you again how much I appreciate your gift. It’s saved me from a lot of trouble - and not just because certain parties assumed it was an engagement ring when I told them to talk to the hand.”

The tea very nearly went down the wrong pipe and Cyprin wheezed and coughed until everything was back in its proper place. She always did this to them, innocently saying things that made hope leap like their aura. Or, if they were very lucky, purposeful hints…no, not her. She’d not put such things in writing without an established relationship. Much too direct for that sort of flirting. 

She made her affections clear, though, through such gifts as the basket. One always knew, with her, if you were liked, and if you were part of her inner circle then she fed you. Copiously. It was, Cyprin reflected, a rather good thing they had a robust constitution, or else their trim figure would be in danger simply by being friends with her. 

To think of how she might approach meals for her loved one almost staggered the imagination. It really was no surprise that she, of all people, had managed to track down the cornucopia. Indeed, it may have recognized a kindred spirit in her. For both fed people with joy and zeal, with welcome and bounty and vast variety.

Cyprin munched happily on a cookie, reminded of their presence. As ever, they relished the sense of being treasured that the gift brought, and the delight of flavors and textures. For all that one never knew exactly what would appear in them, the treats had never once contained anything they had expressed a distaste for and occasionally, often when they were most stressed, featured a reappearance of something they had noted was particularly good. She had a most excellent memory.

“I’m getting better at using it, though it’s very much trial and error. (Don’t worry, I’m always ready to dodge if it doesn’t work.) H.E.R.A. has me working in a team, so I’m jumping through the probationary hoops. It’s very different from working with you and May - they’re rather stern and serious, most of the time, except when I start getting over-enthusiastic and then suddenly I’m being addressed as ‘Probie Pom-Pom’. (Like I ever had time for cheerleading with all my studies…or maybe they mean I’m like a Pomeranian?)”

Cyprin chuckled. Who knew which one of her surmises was correct - perhaps even both - but at least it meant the agents she was working with her did have some sense of humor. Although perhaps a campaign for her to dress as one of those for Halloween was in order, since either would be adorable for her annual party.

“Anyway, it’s a lot of work, but you know me - I’m like the dandelions that pop up in the sidewalk cracks. Doesn’t matter how much you weigh me down, I’ll find a way through. Always have, always will.”

Cyprin raised an eyebrow in delicate disbelief. There was so much elided that they knew a meeting was definitely in order. Armed with sweets to share, and perhaps a libation or two to loosen her tongue. One did not get away with abridging so much from one’s emergency contact…though perhaps she was merely considering the possibility that others might have read the contents and being purposefully discreet, in which case some celebration would be in order. Yes, libations were certainly on the menu, regardless.

…Not that they were looking forward to how much she giggled when tipsy. Oh, no, of course that couldn’t possibly enter one’s private motivations towards the person for whom their feelings had only deepened over the years. Or how affectionately cuddly she got. It wasn’t as though there were reasons they had carefully monitored her alcohol intake at H.E.R.A. parties beyond the care of a friend. Even if May did waggle her eyebrows at one every time one of you made sure she got home before she was tipsy enough to have it show. (May, of course, was well-aware of how their mutual friend was when tipsy, since the dear girl was open-hearted with her friends. However, May’s…ah…enthusiasm for pairing off her friends was also quite unparalleled, and more than once had landed the dear ‘Probie Pom-Pom’ in Cyprin’s arms with an unrepentant grin. Why, they wouldn’t be surprised if the brilliant underling somehow found time in spite of Bruno to write fanfic and/or plotted ways to get Cyprin and her best friend in a situation equally contented to her own, if less, er, boisterous.)

“Please don’t hesitate to call - even if I can’t pick up right away, I promise I’ll call you back when I’m home at some not-horrible hour when I know you’ll be awake. It feels like forever since we’ve been able to get together, and I miss our chats.”

Aww, she was such a sweetheart… Cyprin carefully put the letter away and then dialed her number. 

It rang once - twice - and then her cheery voice answered, “Cyprin! How’re you?”

“Well, well … better for hearing you,” Cyprin admitted. “Want to meet at my place for takeout, drinks, and a movie? Assuming, that is, you don’t have other plans?”

“Pfft. When was the last time I had plans for Friday night, Cyprin? - Wait, don’t answer that, I’m coming. What time do you want to meet?”

“Whenever’s good. I’ve got fresh tea and somebody over-supplied me with cookies.”

A burble of laughter drifted over the phone. “As if. I know how fast that basket gets emptied. Shall I bring extras?”

“Only if they’re not duplicates; you really outdid yourself this time. We can decide what to order after you’re here, or throw something together from what I’ve got if you prefer.”

“Or I could grab something on the way.”

“Whatever. Just get yourself over here so I can verify all these fanciful claims of yours about everything being fine.”

Another burst of laughter, then, “Sure thing. See you soon, O Demanding One.”

 

Thirty minutes later there was a thump at the door, then an awkward rendition of her usual knock. Opening the door, Cyprin saw why - her arms were full, so she’d had to use her foot. 

“Let me take some of that. You should have called - I would have come to help carry it back.”

“No way. It takes three times as long because everyone wants to hit on you.”

“What, and they leave you alone? Likely story.”

“I have a… Um… A mousier look.”

“Honey, you look about as mouse-y as the world’s cutest hamster. Just because I get more attention doesn’t mean you get none.”

“I can be intimidating!”

A dry tone entered their reply. “So can I. Come put the food down on the table so I can unwrap you from that thing you call a scarf and give you a proper greeting.”

“It is a scarf,” she said, defensively, coming in and putting the bags down without surrendering any of them.

“A scarf is not taller than you are or wide enough to cover your whole torso, generally. If you weighted the ends you could probably use it as a defensive weapon. Which…isn’t a bad idea…” Cyprin trailed off, focusing on how to get the scarf off without spinning her like a top.

She flashed her gamine grin. “Just be a dear and hold that end, will you?”

“You are not allowed to show off before you’ve even said hello!”

Her cheeks puffed out in a pout. “Fiiiiiine, I’ll let you puzzle it out yourself, but you have to let me give you a real hug when you’re done.”

They grinned back. “Deal.” Untangling her wasn’t really as difficult as it appeared at first, though the scarf did wind up draped copiously over the nearest chair, and tucking her hair back over her ears at the end was not entirely necessary. “Tell me again why you bother with this and a coat?”

“So I don’t have to bother with massive sweaters, of course!” she chirped as she threw her arms around Cyprin in a bear-hug.

Cyprin sighed and hugged her back, relaxing at the strength of her grip. “I like massive sweaters,” they mumbled into her hair.

She tucked her head against their shoulder. “That’s because you look good in them. I don’t.”

“You look adorable in them!”

“My intent at work in not to look adorable,” she huffed.

“And the rest of the time?”

“I just don’t happen to own any.”

“Uh-huh. Which is why you shamelessly borrow mine when we’re hanging out?”

“They’re comfortable. And here, unlike most of my warm clothes. Seriously, Cyprin, why does your landlord take so long to turn the heat on in the fall?”

Cyprin laughed and hugged her tighter. “Oh, so now we get to the real reason you’re still hanging on to me - you’re using me for your personal heater! I thought you were being awfully clingy for someone who says she can deal with everything.”

Her answering sniffle told Cyprin all they needed to know about that claim, but her words confirmed it. “I bought vegetable pakoras from the place around the corner. And a cauliflower, since I figured you had curry powder and oil and a cookie sheet on hand. And the makings for mango lassi. And the lunch bag has my leftovers of that stuff my neighbor claims is kedgeree, though I’m beginning to wonder if that’s not just the name someone told her in the ‘70s. Rice and dal, mixed with spices cooked in butter.”

“So comfort food, hmm? They just happened to have rosewater on hand at the shop?”

She took a deep, slightly shaky breath. “No, I brought that from my baking stash to add to my yogurt this afternoon.”

“You know I’ll winkle it out of you sooner or later,” Cyprin teased, tone deliberately light.

“Yeah, but we should eat first.” She didn’t sound quite as brisk as she often did, but she seemed more at ease now than she had when she arrived, and her hug loosened to suit her words.

Cyprin let her go and smiled reassuringly. “Need any help with the prep?”

“If you could just warm up the pakora, and find me the stuff for the cauliflower, I can get the rest ready. Oh, and turn on the oven to 375, please.”

“Mkay. I guess we’re watching Bride & Prejudice, then?”

“Movie’s your call.”

“I’ll look through and see. Can I get you a cup of tea in the meantime?”

“Yes, please, Cyprin.”

“Got it. Now sit down until I’m back with the pot, hmm? We needn’t rush into action straightaway with snacks on hand.” They smiled at her genially until she settled. 

Returning with teapot and basket, Cyprin quietly supplied her with a steaming cup of tea and cookies and settled across from her to enjoy the last bit of their own cup and keep her company.

“…Guess I should have run home first and just brought a whole meal over.”

“No, you’re fine. Just need to settle a bit. You came straight from work, didn’t you?”

“Mm.”

“Been a bit stressed, have we?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Eat the cookies. You’ll feel better. I’ll haul out the wine with dinner and pick a movie we can laugh ourselves silly over. I’ll even keep you company while you bake tomorrow.” 

She smiled, faintly. “Sounds good. Of course, that oh-so-conveniently gives you first dibs, I notice.”

Cyprin waggled their eyebrows cheerfully. “You did offer to replenish the basket, and since you are clearly helping me empty it…”

She shook her head, smile brightening. “All right, all right, you don’t need to charm the socks off me.”


	2. Contrariness and Conversation

Cyprin rose and turned on the oven, sliding the pakoras in and grabbing the cutting board. “Just wash the cauliflower and chop it up, right?”

“Right,” she said, sounding a bit bemused. 

Cyprin side-eyed her. “I have managed to feed myself for years without you, you know.”

“I know, but we usually do take-out or leftover take-out or I bring a meal over and I just…don’t see you as having the time to cook, mostly.”

“True enough,” Cyprin conceded, “but it is the weekend and I had already decided that it was time to recharge.”

“It’s usually the weekend by the time we hang out,” she pointed out, sensibly.

“Yes, yes, but it’s so much more fun to cook with someone than all on one’s lonesome,” they said, neatly taking care of the cauliflower and dumping it into a bowl. “It’s restorative, this way. Who knows - if we successfully plan ahead, I might even surprise you with a whole meal sometime. Like that old saying, ‘food for the belly, love for the spirit, Hestia’s hearth warms and protects’. Auntie Hestia might not be the most well-known goddess, but she’s one of the nicest, and wasn’t about to let me reach adulthood without understanding my way around a kitchen, especially once she knew I had my heart set on becoming part of H.E.R.A. Told me that civil servants need her more than most, and I can’t say she was wrong. You’d get on with her fabulously, I bet.”

She stretched, carefully. “Probably. Drizzle a spoonful or two of oil on those, put the lid on, and shake to coat, then add curry powder and perhaps a bit of salt and shake again. Dump on the tray - it’s easy if you’ve one of those silicone mats, but just a bit of extra scrubbing after if not. They’ll get nice and nutty in the oven. I’d offer to get the pakora, but I’m afraid there’s not really enough room.”

“Not without being quite cozy, no,” Cyprin allowed. “But I’m game for that dance if you are. I’m sure we could adapt some ballroom steps…”

She tipped her head back and grinned. “That assumes I’ll not fall over just trying.”

“Unless your day’s been far worse than you’ve been telling me, I think I could keep you upright.”

Silence. Pursed lips. Lines between her eyebrows.

Cyprin sighed. “You know where I am when you want to talk.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just… I don’t want you caught up in all this departmental messiness when it’s not even your division, Cyprin.”

“Do I need to be stern with someone?”

“Cyprin, no, I’m trying to keep you safe - “ Her mouth snapped shut and panic entered her eyes.

They turned, quickly, aura sparking around them. “I have ways and ways to keep safe. You, however, do not.” Their voice dropped to a soft, meaningful whisper. “Tell. Me. Everything.”

Her indrawn breath shook, like the hands she clutched to her chest. Her words, though, were decisive. “It’s nothing that will hurt me. Nothing I can’t manage to get through. I just need some time…away from it. Time to just be me, without all the expectations and demands of being her daughter and the new kid and all.”

Cyprin’s eyes closed as they visibly counted to 12, but their voice when they opened them was gentle, and the aura flickered out. “Then that’s what I’ll give you. But if you need to talk, or it changes - you know how to reach me. I will always be here for you.”

“I know, Cyprin. You always have been. Pretty sure that’s not what the mothers were thinking when they introduced us.”

Cyprin snorted. “Mothers specialize in being inscrutable to their children. Who knows what they thought then!” (They knew exactly what their mother thought now. She told them at regular intervals that it wasn’t healthy to be a workaholic and that they really needed to let themselves love and be loved. They had reminded her that they had tried and not managed to maintain a relationship past the third date in some time. She had smiled at them and said “Just because you don’t call something a relationship doesn’t mean it’s not one. You ought to tell her how you feel, dear.” Sometimes having Aphrodite for a mother had its drawbacks. Like her unfailing ability to know exactly how one’s love life was going, even the parts you tried to pretend weren’t that kind of love.)

She gave the ghost of a smile, but her hands loosened their grip. 

Cyprin quietly slid on the oven mitts and switched out the pakoras for the cauliflower, then fetched out the blender. “Is there some sort of trick to cutting the mangoes, or…”

“Oh! Sorta, yeah, but I can take care of those if you want. There’s some chutney in the bag…”

Just as hoped, the shift of focus back to dinner was settling her nerves. Cyprin stepped to the side to give her room to step over, sliding the cutting board out of its niche and onto the counter. “You know where the knives are. I’ll watch so I can help next time.”

She efficiently unpacked the mangoes onto the cutting board and the yogurt beside it, swinging back to open her lunchbox to pull out the rosewater and kedgeree, and pivoting to put the bottle beside the yogurt. Then she turned to slide the knife out of its drawer with a twist that - at least for a moment - tucked her back into Cyprin’s chest. 

“Galley kitchens make every meal a dance,” they murmured, “and here I was trying to stay out of your way.” 

A breath, two, and she stepped away, ears flushed a delicate rosy hue as she began cutting with practiced movements, excising the pits and cross-hatching the fruit before scooping it out of the skin and into the blender.

Cyprin stayed where they were. “It’s good of you to keep feeding me.”

“Well, it’s good of you to keep letting me hang out with you.” The smile she slanted over at them was sweet, if crooked. “I know you’re a busy person.”

Cyprin arched a brow. “Does that mean I can talk you into joining me for ultimate frisbee tomorrow, too?”

Her laugh pealed out joyfully. “Are you going to show me any mercy if I say yes?” Her tone was teasing, as if there was any doubt she’d vary from the usual schedule of weekend training.

“Hmm. Perhaps with the proper motivation. But you know, it’s good to keep fit in your line of work…”

“I know, but you keep trouncing me, Cyprin. Every time. Unless you’re on my team, which hasn’t happened in a while.”

“That’s because I prefer to avoid accusations of favoritism. But I believe you’ve been assigned elsewhere long enough I can take you back under my wing during the games - if you play with the same fervor you apply to your work.”

“Ahhh, such demands you make of me. Fine, I’ll do it, but you’re to save the strategizing for tomorrow. Tonight is for relaxing!” She punctuated the end of her sentence by dumping in the last of the ingredients, lidding the blender, and starting it up.

Cyprin responded by making silly faces at her until she was laughing so hard it took her three tries to turn the blender off. Smugly, they said, “I’ll get the glasses and dishes if you’ll do the silverware.”

Still laughing, she leaned on the counter to let them by. “Is that a shot at my height?”

Cyprin rolled their eyes. “You are a darling little pocket pixie, but no, it’s not. It’s an acknowledgement that whoever put in the cabinets did so for giants and every single inch counts…and despite everything, I have more inches than you do, even in heels.”

She waggled her eyebrows. “Does that mean you do historical re-enactment?”

They sighed, putting the - untouched, they noticed - kedgeree in the microwave. “Do you really think I’d want to deal with such gendered clothing choices?”

She picked up the silverware, ticking off commentary. “George Eliot. The 1870s reclaiming of men’s fashions by women. The 1920s, with deliberately androgynous fashions. About half of loungewear. Men’s shoes had heels first, by the way, and they wore at least as much lace as the ladies then, too. So I’d say clothing hasn’t always been quite so strongly gendered as you might think.”

“Discounting things like codpieces,” Cyprin noted dryly. 

“That’s ego more than fashion, really.”

“Point.” They slid on the mitts to retrieve the food from the oven. “While I’ve certainly worn shoes and boots with heels, I don’t think re-enactment sounds like much fun. Though I might make an exception for a Halloween costume.”

She grinned as she set the table. “Not that it matters, since you’ll always look awesome no matter what you wear - and always be taller than me.”

Cyprin replied, pouring the lassi, “Thank you. I do appreciate your appreciation. But you do realize I was talking about you in heels, yes?”

“Those things I haven’t been able to wear for a while because they’re not practical for a field agent? Yes. But this was more fun.”

“Is that your way of telling me to get used to your teasing now that I’m not your boss?”

“What, I had to tell you that?” Her tone was light and bubbling with a barely-restrained giggle.

“Not really, but fair warning: I’ll return it in kind. Here, I’ll trade you the glasses so I can serve the food.” 

Her giggle escaped from her dignity as she took the glasses and turned back to set them on the table. “Like we’ve ever wholly refrained from witty repartee?”

Cyprin sniffed, spoon in hand. “That would just be a waste. One should match wits when possible, just as one ought to use every advantage in ultimate frisbee.”

“Uh-huh, sure, like you’d skip that, either.”

“One does not win by skimping on strategizing,” they noted, calmly filling a plate.

“Does blinding people with your smile really count as strategizing?”

“Every advantage includes using one’s natural charms.”

“So is that why May keeps trying to get me to wear that handkerchief she calls a shirt?”

Cyprin froze in the middle of opening the chutney, suddenly glad their head was down so the blush didn’t show. “Er… Something like that, probably. Though it is May; she may have some other goal in mind.”

She sighed. “True. Far be it from me to try and guess the workings of her mind on this. I’m probably happier not knowing.”

Cyprin cleared their throat. “Probably.”


	3. Chapter 3

At the table they settled companionably across from each other.

“Sorry it’s random comfort food,” she said.

“Shush. It’s food we both like, and that’s all that matters. Especially when you don’t even touch part of your lunch, this is clearly needed. You are always welcome here, and you should know that. Food is not what secures your entrance, but your own sweet self. Please, enjoy my company without such fretting, and bask in the comfort.” They paused a beat. “I’ll not serve the wine until later, when you’re feeling better.” 

Her mouth worked, but no sound came out.

“Sweet, adorable self,” Cyprin amended.

She hurriedly shoved a bite of pakora in her mouth. 

Cyprin watched in amusement as she inadvertently heightened the adorability she was wordlessly trying to deny. Her cheeks were stuffed with food, her bun was escaping its confines, and her ears were turning pink again. “You do realize I’m merely stating facts, not trying to compliment you, right?”

She shot them a dubious glance, eyebrows lifted so high they practically floated.

Cyprin tsked and started on their meal, talking only when polite. “If I were trying to compliment you - not as someone I work with, but as someone I enjoy spending my precious leisure time with - I would be a great deal less chary with my terms. But as I would rather see to your comfort than immerse you in flattery, I won’t go down that road unless you give me permission. Otherwise you’d be as awkward with me as a frog experiencing dry land for the first time."

She blinked, hurriedly chewed and swallowed, and croaked out,“Wait, what?”

“Lovely imitation, but not what I was actually aiming for.”

“Alex Cyprin, if you are not trying to simply distract me by tying my head in knots trying to figure out what you actually meant, I would appreciate you putting that in a sentence I can actually understand.”

“Oooooh, pulling the whole name card, hmm?”

“I do know your name. We just don’t use them at work so I got used to not using it.”

“Hm. I suppose that’s a reason…” Their voice was mild, but the pout was not.

She started tapping her forefinger on her glass while staring pointedly at them.

They blinked, attempting to disguise their disconcertment. “Seriously? Of all the things you could pick, that’s the one you want me to answer?”

The stare intensified.

“Okay, okay.” They reached to adjust their necklace, taking a fortifying breath and mentally hoping their mother could spare a little help with this. “I was just stating facts generally agreed upon by your friends. Complimenting you - not your food, but you personally - in a non-work situation would require your permission. See, any time I’ve been more detailed, you’ve asked first, like with the Halloween costumes. The rest, like now, I just told you the same things May would have.”

Thoughtfully, she took a drink of her lassi. 

They tried not to fidget. 

After a seeming eternity, “And the part about not making things awkward?” 

“…I didn’t think I said that out loud. Er. You’re not too keen on compliments that I’ve observed, and the point of this evening was to make you comfortable and forget your troubles. So…”

Apparently mercy was not on her mind, because she smiled brightly and leaned forward. “So?”

“So I thought you wouldn’t want me to give you compliments unless you gave me permission and now wasn’t the time to ask?” Despite all attempts otherwise, their voice sped up with each word and ended on a questioning note.

“Somehow I think there’s more to that story.” She tilted her head, still smiling, though in a sweeter way now. “But I’m not thinking about my troubles, so why don’t you explain what you think would happen if I did give permission?”

They looked longingly at the refrigerator where the wine still waited. “Do we have to have this conversation now? Couldn’t it wait until we’ve at least finished dinner?”

Her teeth flashed into view. “Only if you promise we will continue it. This is much too interesting to ignore.”

A sigh slipped out before they could stop it. “I promise we will continue this, someday.”

“Good,” she purred.

“Please go back to eating now.”

“Of course, but why are you so vehement about that?”

“We have cookies for dessert. Unless you’d rather popcorn.”

She perked up. “With butter and salt? Or kettle corn?”

“Unless you eat properly, it’ll be with soy sauce and nutritional yeast.”

She started eating again, but kept giving them worried looks.

“It actually tastes quite good,” they assured her. “One of my dorm-mates introduced me to the combination. I believe it’s a common thing in certain circles. Something about the vitamin content and umami.”

“Was there a dare involved in eating it at first?”

“Not exactly. But it did have the advantage of being something everyone could eat in spite of the various dietary restrictions.”

“Uh-huh.”

After that, both settled into companionable silence, focusing on the food.

 

“I added something special to the popcorn. See if you can guess what it is,” they said, bowl in hand.

She looked up from frowning at the TV. “What, before we even find a movie?”

“Have you even narrowed down what you’re in the mood for?”

In answer, she reached for the popcorn. 

“Thought so. Take your time. Do you want wine, beer, cocoa, tea, something else?”

“Hold on, I need to see what mystery ingredient you -“ She paused, sniffing. “Oh! Rosewater, and maybe a little cardamom?”

“Figured I’d play with the salt-sweet-spice continuum a bit.”

“Nicely done, Cyprin! This is excellent. Right, so which of these two, then?”

“Mm, let’s go for the one with more dancing and have fun singing along with the choruses.”

“Agreed! A white should be nice with this. Anything else would probably cover up the flavors.”

They brought back two glasses, sensibly filled in anticipation of tomorrow’s ultimate frisbee.

She accepted hers with a smile, and a teasing, “What, we’re not going to finish the bottle?”

Cyprin settled beside her. “As if. We have important training tomorrow. Besides, you get all cuddly when you’re tipsy.”

“You have no room to talk about that!”

“I was raised to appreciate displays of affection.”

“Yes, and how do you explain that time you confessed your love to the ice sculpture?”

Cyprin blushed and winced at the same time. “That was once, after someone added a bottle of rum to the already-spiked punch. Hardly a regular occurrence.” They were not about to point out that she’d been the intended target of said confession, and that grasping ice instead of her hand had rather abruptly shocked them back to sobriety.

“Uh-huh. So are you trying to tell me you don’t like it when I get tipsy?”

“I would prefer that you make your own choices, not let the alcohol cloud your thoughts. I’ve escorted you home from enough social outings when you’ve had too much to know the difference between you being happy and your drunken declarations regarding those you like.”

“But Cyprin, you are fabulous. It’s not like I’m lying.” 

“Ah, but after a few drinks your friends do not trust that you actually mean to verbalize everything that happens to come out of your mouth.”

“Well, maybe not.”

“Last time you told May you were jealous of her life.”

“Errr….”

“Then you told the office admin that ‘we’d die without her. For reals. The lack of caffeine would make H.E.R.A. move at a crawl, and any normal person trying to navigate the phone system without her help would think they were trapped in a Minoan maze.’ She was flattered, but told me it was hard to keep her face straight until you wandered off.”

“Okay, I get it, I tend to be a little too honest after the second or third glass, depending on how much alcohol it actually has…”

“And you give out hugs to almost everyone.”

“Because I love everyone.”

“…not that much, normally. I prefer being on your short list instead of having to extricate myself from your grip after I get you home.”

She blanched. “I didn’t - I mean I wasn’t -“

“No, don’t worry, I would have told you. You just begged me to hold your hand until you fell asleep. Every time.”

“Oh. Well. That’s not so bad, right?”

“I had to peel your fingers off my hand one by one even when you were snoring.”

She looked at her glass like it held the answer. “It just…feels safer with you there.”

They dared rest their hand on her head for a breath, two, then removed it. “That’s fine. But you see why I thought you’d be more comfortable this way?”

She sighed. “Yeah. Probably better. Especially if you’re finally letting me play with you tomorrow instead of against you.”

“Absolutely. We can run by your place so you can change first. Since I figure you won’t be playing in that, and are unlikely to want to deal with May’s commentary if you borrow anything from me.”

“May would never let us live it down if I showed up wearing your clothes. Not that they’d fit, generally.”

“Perhaps you should wear one of my sweaters one day, just to watch her reaction.”

“No, thanks, I like having eardrums that function.”

“Why, you think May would squeal that loudly?”

“Squeal, glomp us together in a group hug, and start planning a wedding. Never mind facts; she’d create her own reality out of the sparsest of suggestions. For all I know, she already has. Sometimes the look on her face when she’s ribbing me is pretty scary.”

“Mm, sometimes. But I don’t think she’d go that far. Probably.”

She tossed a piece of popcorn at them in reply. 

They snatched it out of the air and grinned at her. “Want to start that movie?”

“Sure.” She wielded the remote with an air of familiarity, well-earned over the months they’d spent hanging out together.


	4. Chapter 4

As the opening scene rolled, she slipped off her shoes and shoved them under the couch, shooting Cyprin a sidelong glance. “I forgot how flirty this one was.”

Cyprin laughed. “I hadn’t. That’s part of its charm.”

There was, as both expected, giggles and songs sung together and, occasionally, laughing attempts to join in the dance scenes. Silly declamations, traded commentary, witticisms, terrible puns, and - by the end - contented, companionable, sleepy cuddling.

Cyprin relished the way she relaxed in their presence, and took such obvious comfort in being together. But morning would come, and as tempting as it was to stay there, they decided it’d be better to tuck her into their bed and sleep on the chaise themselves. Surely she’d be sober enough to let them go this time…

Tenderly, Cyprin gathered her close, cradling her head against their shoulder, and lifted her with ease. 

She made a sleepy murmur and nuzzled closer.

Cyprin sighed and strode with their usual natural grace to their bedroom, that cozy nook of bookshelves and dappled walls and a quilt like an eternal pile of autumn leaves.

Bracing one leg on the bed to support her while freeing up an arm to pull the covers down was made easier by practice. Usually they were tucking her into her bed, not theirs, but it wasn’t the first time she’d fallen asleep here, either - and she’d had no problem with planning to get a change of clothes tomorrow, so it wasn’t as if she hadn’t made a conscious decision about staying over. 

They did notice it happened more often when she was stressed, however, which fit with her claim that ‘it felt safer with them’, and today she had been in obvious need of cosseting. 

Gently, they set her down and pulled the covers up. “Sweet dreams,” they whispered.

A yawn answered them as a hand gripped theirs. “Cyprin?”

Their eyes crinkled with an internal burst of amusement. Of course she wouldn’t make this easy. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Stay.”

“Until you’re back asleep?”

Sleepy blinking. “Stay and cuddle. Trust you.”

“Uh…”

“Warmer this way. An’ you’ll sleep better.”

Internally, they were screaming in hopeful confusion. All they said, however, was a hesitant, “But…”

“I’m dressed. You have pajamas. S’fine.”

Words seem to have deserted them; their mouth worked but no sound emerged. 

“We fall asleep on the couch half the time we hang out anyway.” She seemed to be getting more cogent. “Pact: just sleep. You already said, not changing things ‘less we’re both sober an’ agreed. But we’ve already slept together half the night, and I know you won’t be as comfortable out there and won’t let me sleep on the couch. I promise, we can talk tomorrow.”

This, Cyprin thought, was not the sort of help they’d hoped for from their mother. 

She tilted her head and looked at them pleadingly. “Please, Alex?”

Oh no. They had no defense against that. Not from her. “Just…for tonight. Talk tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Her beam made the room brighten. 

Flustered, Cyprin grabbed their pajamas and dashed for the bathroom, trying to ignore the fact that when they returned she’d probably have left her bra on the floor. Again. One was not supposed to notice such things, and tried valiantly, but it was difficult to miss, even when one was merely making sure she was okay when she didn’t respond to repeated knocks (she slept like a log after she got drunk). 

Though it wasn’t as bad as the last time they’d escorted her home after a work party with May, who would keep giving her drinks. She’d flung it through the curtains, followed by a lone sock, before audibly falling into bed. Thirty seconds later she’d slurred out “Cyprin, I’m ready…” Sometimes Cyprin wondered if their mother hadn’t enlisted Bacchus for assistance in tormenting her child until they took her advice. Especially that night.

They shook themselves and busied themselves with their evening ablutions. This was philia and storge, simply a display of affection and trust and the way she sought them out when things were difficult. She needed to be held, and maybe to cry, and she’d keep her word. It really wasn’t much different … except for their suspicion that this would be seared into their memory forever.

Bracing themselves, they went back. “Bathroom’s all yours if you want it,” they called, cautiously.

“‘Kay. Should still have my travel toothbrush in my purse…”

“Seriously?”

“You never know when lunch will leave things stuck in your teeth, so I plan to be prepared.”

“Uh-huh.You want some PJs, too, since you’re more awake?”

“What, you have some that won’t fall off me?”

“Better - I already have your holiday present. Flannel to the rescue.”

Squeaking of springs and voice answered them. “You got that set I said was cute when we were shopping, didn’t you?!”

“Plus something else. Haven’t wrapped them yet, but…”

She burst through the door, skipping, and wrapped them in a positively ferocious hug. “Best. Sleepover. Ever!”

They laughed and hugged her back. “You would have bought them yourself eventually anyway.”

“There is no such thing as too many comfy pajamas. I could have five sets and still be delighted.”

“Uh-huh.”

She grinned. “You know it’s true.”

Cyprin sighed. “To my peril, yes.”

“Hey, if you come on laundry day, sometimes a girl doesn’t get everything put away in time. Be thankful it was just my PJs in the basket I forgot when I started baking in preparation for your arrival.”

“Oh, I am, trust me.” Their voice came out a touch raspy, and they cleared their throat hurriedly.

She tipped her face up, brows knitted in worry. “You’re not coming down with something, are you? I can make soup instead of sweets to send home with you…”

Cyprin blinked. “May would love that,” they said, absently.

She harrumphed. “May creates her own reality out of anything that happens when it comes to us. Doesn’t matter. I’m allowed to look after you, too. So you have to tell me when you’re sick. Got it?” She let go with one hand to tap their sternum, just above the necklace.

They grinned in response and wriggled their fingers lightly against her sides. “I do. I’m fine. I’ll have some water while you’re brushing your teeth. I’ll go get those for you.”

She twisted away, giggling. “Hey, tickling isn’t fair!”

They smirked at her over their shoulder and went to rummage in the wardrobe. “Here, you’ll want the tags off, but it should be a lot more relaxing than sleeping in your clothes.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Yeah, button-down shirts aren’t ideal for that, even with a cute sweater-vest over them.” She paused, eyeing them carefully. “Are those deer with snowflakes on your pants?”

“Mother couldn’t resist them.”

“Lovely colors.”

They dropped a pair of cinnamon roll and cookie-patterned pajamas in her arms. “Says the woman who wanted this horrendously cute set.”

“Butter yellow and baked goods go together just fine.”

“Yes, but according to you, baked goods go with everything.” 

“Well, almost.”

Cyprin’s grin flashed. “Go take care of yourself. We have ultimate frisbee tomorrow, remember?”

Her rueful laugh drifted behind her, even as the bathroom door closed.

The glass of water, drunk slowly, was helpful in calming the nerves, and by the time they returned from the kitchen she was climbing into bed, her clothes in a neat stack by the wardrobe except the socks she still wore - no bra in sight, thankfully. 

A chuckle escaped them. “You really need to learn to curb your ability to intensify cuteness.”

“Oh, like you have room to talk, Mx. I-Drip-Charisma.” She shook her hair out causally. 

Cyprin’s breath caught, and they stepped forward without realizing it.

She pushed it out of her face and smiled ruefully. “I promise, your sink is not clogged with bobby pins.”

The words escaped them without intent. “Do you need to brush it out or anything?”

“Not until tomorrow, probably.” She yawned, one palm pressed against the tip of her nose as she covered it.

They snapped back to themselves. “Into bed with you, Sleep’s needful.”

Sliding down to put her head on a pillow, she asked, “Will you still hold my hand?”

“Of course.” Feigning much more confidence than they felt, they climbed in beside her and reached for her hand.

She laced her fingers with theirs and smiled as she closed her eyes. “Thank you, Alex.”

“No, thank you. You’re right, this is better than the chaise.”

“There is such a thing as being too polite.”

“You’re usually too asleep to notice.”

“And you’re usually up and strategizing with the dawn.”

“True enough. Sleep now, talk tomorrow. I’ll still be here, even if I am strategizing in the main room.”

She squeezed their hand and relaxed so much they could feel the tension melt out of her.

Cyprin squeezed back and let sleep claim them both. Somehow, once they were in the moment, there was nothing to worry about, just the ease they usually felt with her.

 

When the morning light woke them, the first thing they noticed was the hair tickling their nose. Brushing it away gently garnered a slight twitch from the hand that, they noticed, was still loosely wrapped with theirs.

Quickly, they pinched themselves. 

Ouch. No, this was real.

For a moment, they cradled her hand against their heart, savoring the moment, etching every detail into their memory just in case this was the only time.

When she pulled free to fling her arm over her face, they let mirth crinkle the corners of their eyes and quietly got up. No harm letting her sleep longer, even if there was planning to be done and breakfast to be made.

By the time her half-awake voice called their name, they had the vegetables sautéed, the cheese shredded, the eggs out and the croissants split and stuffed with chocolate, waiting to be warmed.

What they were not prepared for was her reaction to the apron when they went to check on her..

One brow arching, she asked, “Is that a request, or a demand for payment?” 

Startled, they looked down and flushed. 

“Ahhh, your mother strikes again?”

“Yes,” they said, still staring down in horror. It was the one that said ‘Kiss the Cook’. They had thought they’d put it away when she offered to come over, but clearly they’d forgotten…and it wasn’t as though she could miss words spelled out in rhinestones.

“She does like things with a certain pizzazz, doesn’t she?”

“Yes…” Maybe it was okay. Maybe she was just teasing again. Maybe -

Their train of thought was abruptly halted by a kiss to their cheek, and they froze, heart beating wildly.

“There, that should at least be enough to get me breakfast if I join in the planning session after, right?”

They dared to look up.

Her expression was full of joy and mischief, and she met their eyes without hesitation. “I know, I know, we still have to talk. But I slept better than I have in a long time, and I’m thankful to you for that.”

“Was that just - “

“Breakfast, or you’ll regret not eating soon enough,” she said firmly, eyes still twinkling.

“For a cinnamon roll, you’re awfully bossy sometimes.”

“Only because you keep forgetting I look like a cinnamon roll but am not actually one.”

“Tell me another, I’ll see if it tastes any truer.” But they were already turning back to the kitchen when she caught their elbow.

“Care for some help?”

“I thought you said my kitchen was too small for that?”

“I feel like dancing today.”

They lifted an elegant eyebrow and smiled as though she’d just given them a dare and a gift. “Then let us dance.”

The making of the omelette, neatly split between the two plates, went like a dream, full of laughter and gentle touches and, yes, dancing (a waltz, which there was just enough room and time to execute while waiting for the eggs to finish cooking). 

While they ate, the croissants sat in the pan’s residual heat, the gentle warmth not only elevating the pastries but also tenderly melting the chocolate - not unlike the way they looked at her. The coffee, likewise, was slowly steeped and pressed for a richer flavor.

She beamed, gulping down her food. “Thank you, this is lovely.”

Cyprin waved their empty hand. “You’re kind. Also hungry.”

Her cheeks puffed out and she wrinkled her nose at them. “Not so hungry as to fail to appreciate good food. The simplest things are the hardest. Take eggs, for example - it’s easy to overcook them. But these are tender and moist, and everything is warmed through. Even the cheese is melted, because you put it on the bottom. Take the compliment.”

They flushed, hurriedly stuffing their mouth to buy more time to come up with an answer.

Fortunately, she busied herself with devouring everything on her plate and then fetching the croissants. “Chocolate with breakfast is a fantastic idea,” she said cheerily. 

Cyprin quirked a brow at her. “What, do you mean you don’t actually eat sweets for breakfast on most days?”

“Ha! Like I could work the way I do on just sweets. No, there needs to be a real breakfast involved, or I’ll run out of steam. We can do second breakfast after ultimate frisbee. Or brunch. Or lunch. Whatever.”

Chuckling, they nodded. “Food after frisbee. Got it.”

She took a nibble of her croissant. “Right. Still up for the entertainment of watching me bake?”

“Always.”

She paused, coffee mug halfway to her mouth, eyes widening. “Why does it seem like it’s followed by something else?”

Cyprin pursed their lips and tapped them win a finger. “Perhaps because it is. You can slow down - we can hash out our strategy here once I’m done.” They went back to eating as if they hadn’t just deliberately confused her. 

She made a ridiculous face at them. “Because if you don’t eat first you’ll forget, I know. Sure you don’t want to wait until I’ve run home and changed into sports-appropriate clothing?” Her gulp punctuated the comment.

Cyprin returned the favor with the ease of long practice. “Quite sure, unless you intend to come back prior to baking.”

“But Cyprin…”

“Ah, ah, ah. You’ve had a good night’s rest and we’ll be getting exercise and then you can bake, or you won’t stop until you’ve covered your counters and various other surfaces again. I know that look in your eyes. Better to take a multi-pronged approach to the stress.”

She pouted half-heartedly for a moment, then snorted. “How do you know all this stuff just from looking at me?”

Cyprin gave her an inscrutable look. “The same way you do for me, I expect.”

Her brows knit. “Instinct and an uncanny sense that you need goodies?”

Their coffee did not spray, but it was a near-miss. “You have a goodie-basket sense?”

She blinked her big brown eyes at them as if they had asked something ridiculous. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Er… No. No, they don’t.” They rubbed their face. “Auntie Hestia must really love you and your brother…”

The laughter that spilled out of her sounded like home to their ears.

“Seriously. Look at what the two of you do, either professionally or on your off time - you make people feel relaxed and comfortable and feed them good food.”

She shook her head. “All right, enough revenge for my compliment earlier.”

“That’s not revenge. Revenge is saying things to get the same reaction out of you. Which I won’t do before the game.”

“I notice you didn’t say anything about after,” she said wryly.

“That’s because the game comes first.” They started arranging the things on the table to present their current plan to utilize her strengths. “We’ll begin with you here…”

 

Two hours later, when the coffee was gone and only crumbs remained of breakfast, they relented.

“Cyprin, I only have so many clothes that work for field agent stuff…”

“Fine, fine. Want me to see you to your door? Or would you rather meet at the park?” They schooled their face carefully, but what they wanted was to protect her as much as possible in her off-hours.

She shrugged. “Whichever’s fine. Not going to miss being on your team. It’ll be nice to be on the winning side.”

They rubbed their hands together gleefully. “You have just earned yourself my company. You do know how to flatter a person.”

“Of all my compliments, that’s the one that gets to you?”

“It is about ultimate frisbee.”

“Okay, point. Let’s go suit up for the outdoors…though today should be better, since the sun’s not hiding.”

They waggled their brows. “I could always try to tuck you in my coat if you get really cold.”

“What, and ruin that fabulous drape? No way. I’ll just stick close enough to guard you.”

There was a long silence before they asked, “Guard me from what, exactly?”

“If I stay close enough, you’ll have fewer people hit on you,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What brought that insight on, Ms. ‘you can’t meet me, it’ll take forever to get back’?” The lofty eyebrow was back, and the look they gave her was both curious and dubious.

“You’re warm,” she said, in the same tone as before.

“And?” The other eyebrow joined its sibling in aloofness.

Her smile was disturbingly toothy. “And you don’t mind me being close, but you do mind the random strangers. Especially when they try to take liberties. You know I won’t stand for that.”

“Hm. Point. Fine, I accept my fluffy Pom-Pom’s guardianship.”

She bundled up, humming to herself, pausing next to the door. “Am I allowed to twist their arm if they try anything gross?”

“Save that fierceness for the frisbee field.” 

“At least these shoes are good for stomping…”

“You make it sound like we’re going to be facing ravaging hordes, not going on the subway.”

“…Please tell me if you’re teasing me again.”

“Tell you what, you defend me and I’ll defend you.”

“How?”

“Same as with you: a certain amount of closeness, and people make assumptions. Do those pants have functional back pockets?”

“…You do remember shopping with me, right?”

They snapped their fingers. “Too bad. Maybe you could get someone to tailor a pair of men’s pants down for you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cyprin, the perverts think a woman with functional back pockets is offering an invitation.”

“You could wear them here,” they said, cheerily. 

“Why did that sound like an invitation?”

“Tell me your answer later. For now we need to get you geared up.” They ushered her out the door, locked up, and offered their arm with a half-bow. 

She laughed, hooked their elbow with her own, and wrapped her hand around theirs. “To the subway!”

Their travels were merry, and they quietly traded flirtatious quips while squeezed together in the packed car. 

They noticed, but didn’t say anything, when she kept holding their hand all the way to her door.

She let go only to unlock it and head in, calling over her shoulder, “You know where the cookie jar is - help yourself!”

Of course, once they’d closed the door they had to investigate. “This doesn’t count as a singular,” they noted, surveying the bounty occupying jars, bowls, and bags spread across her counter.

“Be out in a moment, and then we can pack a bag to take with us.”

“You just want room for the products of your next baking adventure.”

“There are worse ways to deal with stress, Alex, and it keeps you supplied with sugar.”

“I am not a hummingbird!”

“Of course you aren’t. Who said that? How dare they!”

They smiled wryly. She would take umbrage for them. “No one important.”

“Which is why you recall it.”

They sighed. “They’re not important now, but the words still sting sometimes.”

“You just have a fast metabolism, Alex. As long as you keep yourself fed you can work ridiculous hours.”

“I do like to sleep.”

“Sometimes.” She came out with her hair neatly coiled and pinned, clad in casual wear. “Sometimes you just catch a few hours on the couch in your office, toss a vest over your ensemble, and keep going.”

“How do you even know that?”

“Duh, there’s fan blogs devoted to your daily fashion.”

“…Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope, perils of popularity, Alex. You’re a fashion icon at the office, as well as the subject of much gossip and probably all too many confessions for your taste.”

“That’s it, time to stop for a pot of tea and some snacks before we go. Fill me in.”

Her shrug as she went to get the teapot was relaxed. “That’s it, basically. There’s two Cyprin fashion-watch blogs May and I know of, and there may be more.”

“And the rest of it?” At her gesture to the tea corner, they added, “Earl Grey, please.”

“Well, you would know more about the confession numbers than I do. The gossip, well, it’s office gossip. May and I give the cut direct to the malicious ones.” She turned the stove on under the kettle, and fished out two triangles of baklava, a small mountain of meringues, and a handful of pecan thimbles onto a plate and set it before Cyprin.

They bit into a thimble, face relaxing. “So, basically, life in the limelight.”

“Basically. You do have that star quality.”

“Not as much as Mother.”

“Your mother is in a class of her own. Speaking of which, did she really try to get you to enter Eurovision as a duo?”

“In matching outfits. Yes.”

“What happened?”

“She got her way, of course. It was…an experience. We didn’t win because she loved half the other contestants too well to let them lose to an unfair advantage, but she may have, er, made her displeasure with a few of the slimier ones known.”

“Oh dear.”

“Let’s just say they got their comeuppance…and a few of them might’ve won the Darwin Awards.”

She snorted and snagged a cookie for herself, clearly relishing its crisp crunch and emergence of chocolate. “As consequences go, that’s not so bad.”

“True. Mother’s favorites, well, let’s just say they get a lot of love.”

“Shocked.”

“I almost could see the sarcasm.”

“Hm.” She started packing containers into a zippered canvas bag after starting the tea steeping. 

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Oh, plenty, but it’s better to wait until you feel like telling me stuff instead of prying.”

“I offer to let you ask me anything, and that’s your answer?” Their tone reverberated with disbelief.

She beamed at them. “Isn’t it more fun this way?”

They tossed out, almost off-handedly, “You know, people think I’m already in a relationship with you.”

She blinked. “Like who?”

They traced the outline of the baklava in the air above it, unable to meet her gaze. “Like my mother.”

There was a sudden thud, and they looked up in alarm to see her hanging on to the counter.

“I’m sorry, my knees just sort of - did you just say your mother?”

“Yes, though she’s hardly the only one,” they said, watching her with hope, a cautious fluttering of their heart coming as they realized she hadn’t said no.

“Um - but - why?” Her struggle to find words, and wobbly knees, were too adorable.

“Because I’ve loved you for years, and am happy just to be near you, even if you never want a romantic relationship and choose to stay platonic.”

“Even if I -“ She broke off and hauled in several deep breaths. “I swear I didn’t put enough booze in the cookies to have this effect.”

“You’re perfectly sober, and so am I, fear not.” Amusement gathered in fine lines beside their eyes.

“Can’t be. You just confessed. To me. When you could have practically anyone.”

“But I don’t want ‘practically anyone’. I want life to be how it is when we’re together. Relaxed. Comfortable. Cuddly, like last night. Casual, like this morning. Flirty, like on the subway.”

She leaned towards them, staring intently at their face.

Daring greatly, Cyprin leaned towards her in silent reply.

Her eyes widening, she gulped. “You’re…”

“Serious?” They brushed the crumbs from her lips with a gentle thumb. “Very.”

She trembled, rose rising up her ears. 

A smile touched their lips and they cupped her cheek tenderly. “I’ve waited this long. I’m not going to rush you for an answer.”

She nestled into their hand with a smile, then turned her head to press a kiss to it.

They shot to their feet, vaulted over the counter and peered at her now-crimson face before closing the distance with a kiss that blazed with passion.

When they came up for air, she leaned against them. “Why am I unsurprised that you manage to make even a first kiss not be awkward?”

“Because you have trust in my abilities?”

“Point. Um. I think the tea’s done. If you still want any.”

“Much rather keep kissing you.”

She giggled. “There’s also ultimate frisbee…”

They frowned. “There is.”

“Where they are expecting us to arrive with snacks, because we are reliable,” she added, mischievously.

“Sadly true. We will have to resume this later.” They paused. “Please?”

“Alex Cyprin, who do you think you’re talking to? Of course we will!”

They smiled and hugged her close. “Promise?”

“You are so out of my league, but yes, I promise.” She paused. “I think we’re going to need earplugs when we tell May.”

“Let alone my mother, who will probably break out in some cryptic ballad for the fun of it. But if we don’t tell them first we will never get a chance to enjoy ourselves without them on our heels.”

“So…who first?”

They grimaced and wrote a quick text on their phone: “Took your advice, thanks. You were right, as always about these matters.”

Their phone dinged fifteen times in quick succession.

They held it out so they could read them together.

“Of course I was.”  
“It’s my job.”  
“As your mother and as the goddess of love.”  
“Wait, right about what?”  
“Did you tell her????”  
“Finally??????”  
“You did!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”  
“Took you long enough!”  
“I gave you every hint I could.”  
“Not my fault I wasn’t allowed to tell you it would be fine in plain English.”  
“Or Greek.”  
“But no, you had to worry about this.”  
“Is she glowing?”  
“Make sure you invite me to the wedding.”  
“I don’t need to ask if you’re happy.”  
“Such a relief.”  
“Love you, dear hart!”  
“Kisses and good wishes to you both!”  
“This needs a song. A power ballad to the power of love!”

She buried her face in their shirt, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“May will probably know as soon as she sees us.”

“Or not.”

“What, you think we can hide this from her?”

“Just until after the game.”

“How?”

“As long as we don’t hold hands, kiss, or…or you give me that look…”

“But I want to do those things. And victory kisses are supposed to be a perk of winning.”

She gave them a dubious look. 

“In movies they are.”

“Yes. Movies.”

“Does that mean I don’t get one?” They gave her their best fawn-eyed look.

“Turn off the Bambi eyes already, I didn’t say that!”

Their broad grin revealed two rather pointy canines. “So I just need to win?”

“You do not need to do anything. Gods, you’re going to make me dizzy.”

“As long as you fall towards me, sweetheart, you’ll be fine.”

“Fine? I feel like people say one feels like after drinking ambrosia.”

“Better than fine, then.” They fluttered their lashes at her.

“Do you want your tea or should I just pack it in a thermos?”

“We can pack it, and then i really do need another kiss to prove this isn’t a dream.”

“At least I’m not the only one feeling adrift from reality.”

“Ah, but such a pleasant place we’re in together.”

“You’d think that of just about anywhere right now.”

“Well, yes, but so would you.”

“Duh. Do you know how many love letters I’ve ferried for you?”

“Probably about as many as I’ve written you,” they replied absently, then gulped.

“You wrote me letters? Do you still have them? Can I read them?”

“That’s - I mean - eventually,” they managed to blurt out, flustered. “You?”

“No, I didn’t write you love letters.”

They pouted.

“Just pages and pages about how wonderful you were. Are. Always have been.”

They perked up.

“You can read them, eventually.”

Their mouth opened to lodge a protest.

She pressed a quick kiss to their cheek. “Eat up if you’re going to. We’ll have to leave soon.”

“Pack some clothes and come bake at my place after?”

“I think I can manage that.” Her eyes twinkled as she spun away to do so. “Take care of the tea, would you?”

 

Ultimate frisbee was remarkably easy after that. Victory was secured (and yes, there were cheers, hoots, and whistles when they kissed her). 

May screamed until she ran out of breath and swooned into Bruno’s waiting arms. He hoisted her up and carried her home while he had the chance, presumably for some celebrating of their own.

 

The afternoon was quiet and full of good smells and laughter.  
It was all very cozy and domestic and entirely to their liking.  
“I could live like this every day,” they mumbled around their latest taste-test.

Her smile was warm and wide. “Wouldn’t it be lovely? You’d never run out of snacks.”

“Or be lonely.”

“Or be lone - wha?”

“I was talking about having you here. What were you talking about?”

“The baking. Not all of us are quite as used to the idea of ‘us’ as you are.”

“Too bad.”

“I’ll get there. It’s just that it’s still new for me, you know? Still a bit unreal. I mean, I adore you, but I never thought I had a chance, so I just went ‘nah, they have that effect on most people’ and got on with life.”

“While I was just too chicken to tell you how I felt in case you told me no and decided not to hang out with me anymore.”

“That’s not chicken, that’s normal.”

“Reminder: I grew up with people who literally think you should carry off your future wife after making arrangements with her father.”

“Point.”

“I might have considered it, but Josh would’ve been mad at me for suggesting it instead of talking to you.”

“He totally would.”

“I don’t look so great wearing food.”

She smooshed a runaway bit of baklava into their chin. “You look fine.”

“You’re incorrigible,” they said, fondly.

“Yet you love me.”

“One of many reasons. No, you’re not getting the list all in one go. You’d fall asleep before I was done.”

“Alex!” She was scarlet with embarrassment.

“That’s my name, and all the better from your lips. Speaking of which…”

The baking came to a halt in favor of cuddling, necking, and conversing on the couch, uncovering new perspectives of their shared past and growing their deeply-rooted relationship.


End file.
